Chapter 27
Sorrow
I open my eyes. My vision is hazy and my face throbs.
I try to sit up. Someone rushes over and sets their hand on my shoulder. “Easy. Easy, Sorrow.”
I don’t recognize the man’s voice. I know I’m in the hospital. He’s not wearing scrubs or a white coat. “Who are you? What happened? Where’s Trace?” I shake my head. “Never mind. I don’t want to see him.” My last words fall to a whisper, but my guest, whoever he is, hears me loud and clear.
“I apologize if this is harsh, but he left a message with me for when you wake up. He doesn’t want to see you.”
A sob pours from me. I clutch at my gown, at the spot over my heart.
How could he make me fall for him, then turn his back on me when I need him the most?
The tears fall. Embarrassed, I cover my eyes with my arm.
The air near my side moves. A chair scrapes across the floor.
The man sits, his presence looming over me.
“Remove your arm. Look at me, Sorrow.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know you.”
“You will, Daughter.”
Daughter? Before I can remove my arm and look into this man’s eyes, he does it for me. He grasps my chin between thick fingers and turns my head to the side. I’m staring at the man from the picture Trace showed me on his phone.
“How . . .?” My tears fall. It’s too much.
Trace doesn’t want to see me. This man is claiming to be my father.
“How are you here?” I heave a sigh. My chest aches with a hurt I didn’t think I’d experience again.
I love Trace. I hate him for putting me in this situation.
Had he kept it in his pants before I ever met him, I wouldn’t be his hookups’ target.
“What happened? Shouldn’t I be at school? ”
“How about we answer a question at a time, starting with the easiest first. Does that work for you?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not at school because I pulled you from your classes.
Trace found you behind the dumpster, beaten up and left like crumpled-up trash.
He called nine-one-one. You’ve been in the hospital for three days.
They’re monitoring you for internal bleeding, as well as your kidney function.
You were putting out bloody urine in your catheter. ”
I have a catheter? Jesus, is that the tubing between my legs?
“Your CT scan showed bruising on your kidneys and behind your stomach. Whoever did this got you good. They kicked you and kept on kicking you even when you lost consciousness.”
“Were there cameras? Is that how you know all this?”
“I’m a detective with SFPD, Sorrow. I see these types of injuries all the time with assaults. It’s a good thing that boy found you when he did. Otherwise, we’d be looking at a different ending.”
Except all this wouldn’t have happened had Trace not been getting oral in the bathroom.
“How are you here?”
“The same boy. You got feelings for him?”
The man who says he’s my dad scrutinizes me. I shake my head. “I lived with him and his parents when my, um, my father died in a house fire.”
“He’s not your goddamn father. He and his wife were thieves and murderers.
They gutted your mother, my wife, and stole you, my child, from her womb.
” His face darkens. I recoil. I would never want to run into this man in a dark alley, even if he is a detective.
There’s darkness in his soul, and it’s there because he did bad things before he decided to become an officer of the law.
“How are you certain I’m your daughter?”
“Again, the boy. The day of your assault, I received by priority mail pieces of your hair and a picture of you and him on a fucking inner tube. I called in a favor for a fast turnaround time, got the results yesterday, and busted balls to get here before you woke up.”
“Woke up?”
“They kept you sedated. You were hurt really badly and in a lot of pain, from what your friend Leigh said. The best way to help you work through the pain and help your body heal faster was to sedate you.”
“Leigh was here?”
“All your friends were, sweetheart.”
“But not Trace?”
“Not while I’ve been here. I haven’t left your side, Sorrow.”
“What now?” More tears slide down my cheeks. I reach for a Kleenex. My dad grabs one from the box and gently dabs at my tears, like I’d fall apart if he didn’t.
“When the docs give you the okay to leave, you’ll be going home with me, to San Francisco. You’ll meet your cousins, aunts, and uncles, and Cillian McCabe. He’s the head of the family. I’ve already enrolled you in the same school your sister, Isla, graduated from.”
The door opens, and a petite woman with long black hair and eyes the same shade as mine walks in.
“Speak of the devil. Isla, dear, come say hi to your sister, Sorrow.”
“I can keep my name?”
“Or you can change it. Up to you.”
“I’ll keep it.”
Isla pulls up a chair next to my father. “Hello, Sorrow. It’s nice to meet you.”
We reach for one another. We could’ve been twins at my current age. Even three years older, she doesn’t look much older than I am. We hold hands. Her hand is warm. Her grip is firm but gentle.
“How are you feeling, little sister?” Her eyes search my face. They widen. She must see the resemblance.
“Overwhelmed.”
“I imagine so.”
Jesus, she speaks as I would talk. I love her already.
Her gaze drops to the hollow of my neck. “The blue morpho butterfly. It’s my favorite butterfly.”
Dad puffs out a breath. “Oh boy is it. She has a large canvas in her apartment with what looks to be a million of them.”
“Ten thousand, Father. By the way, Uncle Cillian offered a million for the piece.”
Dad scoffs. “Don’t give in to him. Don’t sell it. That piece is priceless. It was your first after . . .” Dad cups Isla’s neck and brings their heads together. “It was the first painting you completed after the incident.” His face darkens again, like he’s reliving a memory.
A memory. My nightmares. A man choking on his own blood. Risking being vulnerable with my family, who are still strangers, I tell them about my nightmares.
“I wouldn’t put it past someone to put two and two together and blackmail the son of a bitch. That piece of shit must’ve killed two birds with one stone. Kill the blackmailer and stop him from talking and demanding money. It’s what I would have done.”
Unbelievable and scary. “You’re a cop.”
“We’re McCabes. Remember that, Daughter. Your family is dangerous, and we look after our own. McCabe for life.”
“McCabe for life,” my sister repeats with reverence on her face.
“Is that who I am?” I stare at the strangers in front of me. I wish Trace were here to hold me in his arms and tell me everything will be all right. Except he doesn’t want to see me. Why doesn’t he?
“Yes, Daughter. You are Sorrow McCabe. For life.”